


3

by yours_eternally



Series: Feb-u-whump 2021 [4]
Category: Slipknot (Band)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Dirty Thoughts, Dubious Consent, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Masturbation, Vomiting, improper wound care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:54:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29195637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yours_eternally/pseuds/yours_eternally
Summary: Corey gets up and goes over to the other bed. He smooths Sid’s hair and he stirs slightly. He knows Shawn had told him to leave him. But Corey’s got a kind of tingling in his hands and between his thighs. He just wants tolookat it again.Sid gets hurt in an accident on stage and Corey finds the wound oddly fascinating.(the prompt isimpaling, just so we're all emotionally prepared for the kind of injury it is)
Relationships: Corey Taylor/Sid Wilson
Series: Feb-u-whump 2021 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137497
Comments: 12
Kudos: 15
Collections: febuwhump 2021, yours_eternally's Febuwhump 2021 Collection





	3

Corey didn’t actually see what happened. He probably wouldn’t even have known something had happened if the crowd hadn’t suddenly surged, screaming with a sudden raw urgency that had made him flinch back. He stumbled back into Shawn, who caught him by the scruff of his neck to stop him from going down. 

Corey had got his feet back under him, but Paul’s baseline had gone quiet so Corey doesn't know if he’s on the chorus or the verse. And Shawn still hasn’t let go of him. He’s talking, yelling something. But Corey’s still so deep in performance mode he can barely understand him. But then Shawn pulls him around and he sees Joey standing up behind the drum kit, leaning to look. 

And then he sees Sid on the ground. 

He’s on his back like he’s fallen, which isn’t too weird. But there’s a big splash of red up the front of his suit, startlingly bright against the off-white canvas. It takes a moment for Corey to connect the dots and recognise its blood. And another moment again for him to spot the metal spike that’s going straight through Sid’s palm. It’s like one of those Halloween props; those headbands that make it look like you have an arrow through your head. Except this isn’t a prop. And Sid’s moaning, loud and pained like an animal, and he’s shaking so hard the medic can barely keep a hold of him.

And with this realisation, Corey’s stomach flips and he empties it straight onto the stage in front of him. 

‘Shit, _shit_ ,’ he can hear Shawn muttering. He doesn’t let Corey go but shuffles to keep his sneakers out of the pool of puke. 

Corey’s not totally sure what happens next but then he’s backstage. Shawn had pulled his mask off his head, and wiped his mouth, and fed him some water. Now he’s on his knees next to Sid, holding the wrist of his good hand tightly like this is going to help or something. Sid’s skin is hot, feverish, to the touch. And he’s still moaning. Corey’s fairly confident he’s going to be hearing that in his nightmares for forever. But he still can’t take his eyes off the spike that’s jutting right through his palm. 

x

Corey’s sat on the bed. The tv’s on, blurbing to itself, while he stares into space. He’s freshly showered and sober. It’s kind of a weird feeling. They’re back in the hotel, looking down the barrel of a week of cancellations unless someone can talk the label out of it. Shawn’s on speaker-phone to someone important in the room over, arguing about insurance premiums and medical bills. Corey can hear Joey’s voice sharpened by anger rising crystal clear through the wall every time he says _fucking_. 

For some reason it makes Corey think about being a kid, and the thought sours his stomach. He scrubs his hands through his hair and glances at the other bed. Sid’s laying on his side, facing towards his. His face is slack and colourless. It makes him look younger. 

The hand is flopped on the bedspread, wrapped in gauze. Sid’s been sleeping since he’d got back from the hospital; a bad interaction of the pain meds with whatever one of the roadies had given him to shut him up while they’d waited for the ambulance to arrive. 

Corey had been worried, but Shawn had said he just needed to sleep it off. No overnight stay needed. The spike had gone through the thick bit of his palm, miraculously missing the tiny bones and easily snappable tendons. Just a perfect, if somewhat ragged, hole straight through his flesh like he’d suffered a slightly off-centre stigmata. Or half stigmata, Corey guessed. Half a martyr.

Corey gets up and goes over to the other bed. He smooths Sid’s hair and he stirs slightly. He knows Shawn had told him to leave him. But Corey’s got a kind of tingling in his hands and between his thighs. He just wants to _look_ at it again. 

Something about the blood and viscera is kind of fascinating to Corey, now he’s calmed down. Now the shock of Sid being really, properly hurt has had time to settle. Corey knees up on the bed crawling carefully closer, trying not to rock the mattress too much. Sid stirs again, eyelashes flickering. 

‘S’okay,’ Corey mutters, reaching to stroke his hair back again. When Sid settles, Corey starts to pick at the tape on the bandage. He’s not really sure what he’s doing. He just wants to see it. The image of the spike jutting through Sid’s palm is painted on the inside of Corey’s head and he just needs to see the wound so he can get rid of the image. 

‘Cor… ey,’ Sid slurs, feeling him pulling. 

‘Shush,’ Corey says, pausing to pet him before loosening the bandage some more. Sid mumbles but doesn’t move. Corey can see his eyes are open a sliver, watching as Corey carefully unfurls the bandage. His dick’s hard, thick, and throbbing in his jeans. But he’s trying to ignore it, push that thought down and not examine it. 

The bandage comes loose at last and Corey throws it to the bottom of the bed. Sid makes a soft uncomfortable noise. Corey shushes him again as he gently pulls back the gauze. The wound is clean but still wet, the stitches barely keeping it closed. Sid grunts trying to pull back but Corey’s locked his other hand around his wrist without noticing. 

‘Corey,’ he says, squirming, ‘ _don’t_ — it hurts.’ 

‘Chill out, man,’ Corey says, ‘—I just wanna see.’ So Sid stops resisting him and Corey lets go of his wrist. He traces the outside of the wound with his thick fingertips. Sid keeps his palm flat though he’s tense. Corey’s dick is distracting, now throbbing so hard it’s painful. 

‘Don’t move,’ Corey says, wriggling up on his knees and opening the fly of his jeans. 

‘What the _fuck_? I don’t—’ Sid starts, making to sit up but flopping back groaning. Corey reaches to put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. 

‘It’s cool, man,’ Corey says, patting him. ‘It’s cool, I just want to see it.’ Sid huffs but he obviously doesn’t have it in him to make Corey get off. Corey waits another minute, rubbing Sid’s shoulder, with his eyes on the gnarly wound in his palm. When Corey’s satisfied he’s settled again, he opens his fly the rest of the way. He spits on his palm and gets a hand around his dick. 

Sid doesn’t move this time but he lets out a soft _fuck_. Corey huffs a heavy breath, the other hand going tight in the t-shirt on Sid’s back. Corey bites his lower lip feeling, his gut twisting up tight. He can’t look away from the wound, can’t stop imagining how the wet blood and slick flesh would feel sliding along his cock. 

He grunts, panting, hand tightening on his cock; the thought almost turning him inside out. He closes his eyes, seeing again the spike jutting, penetrating the sticky viscera. That’s the final thought that sends him over the edge. Corey shudders hard as the orgasm sloshes through him leaving him lightheaded and gasping. His eyes snapping open as he comes in a hot stripe, right across Sid’s palm and on the bed. 

‘Fuck!’ Sid barks, jerking back with shock at the sting, ‘fuck, _shit_ —’ Corey blinks at him, still coming down from the stratosphere. 

‘Shut up,’ Corey says, getting his shit back together and fumbling to stop Sid scrabbling at the wound. ‘Fuck, stop, _shit_ , stop it. Fucking stop it!’ He catches Sid’s wrist, pulling. He’s trying not to look at the wound. He’s trying not to look at his come on the wound. 

He pulls the other up and to the bathroom. Sid’s shaking again and he won’t stop fucking talking, saying it hurts over and over, asking Corey what the fuck he’s doing, asking Corey if he’s going to die. Corey tells him to shut the fuck up as he pulls his hand under the water running in the sink, rinsing the fresh blood as well as his come. 

He hears the door to the hotel room open. He raises his head. 

**Author's Note:**

> Day two of Corey being a creep 🙌🏻
> 
> [yours-eternally-ao3](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/yours-eternally-ao3) on tumblr


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